


balancing the scales

by vvelna



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Depression, M/M, Mental Illness, Self Harm, but please use your best judgment about whether a fic about self harm is safe for you to read, no graphic descriptions or details about methods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 20:10:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15323343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvelna/pseuds/vvelna
Summary: Dan wants everything to be in balance. Sometimes that means wanting to hurt himself. Sometimes it doesn’t.





	balancing the scales

“Hello, internet. Today I want to talk you…”

Talk you?

Shit. He had to start over.

“Hello, internet. Today I want you to tell about…”

Fuck fuck fuck.

Dan could feel the pressure building behind his eyes. His jaw clenched painfully. Relax. He needed to relax.

He’d get through the filming, eventually. But if he didn’t calm down he would keep messing up. He’d have to make himself pay for it later.

One injury for every time he fucked up. Every time he had to stop and start again.

He took a deep breath.

“Hello, internet…”

*

When he filmed with Phil, it was okay. Every time he tripped over his tongue or said something they’d have to cut out, Phil would immediately and purposefully fuck up as well. It was bad for bad. A balance of mistakes. Dan knew it didn’t make sense to Phil, but he was willing to go along with it anyway.

*

Sometimes Dan would go weeks, even months, without any urges. He let himself loosen up, he shrugged shit off.

Then it would hit him. It always seemed to come out of nowhere, but the triggers were always predictable in hindsight. Sometimes it happened when he was on the brink of a depressive episode—when he still had enough energy to act on his negative thoughts. Or when he was stressed from stretching himself too thin, pushing himself too hard, chasing goals that ran from him whenever he got close. When he hadn’t slept enough. When he was worried about work and Phil and the future. Everything would start spiraling, errors would pile up.

Dan had to balance the scales, meet his mistakes half way. Two wrongs to make a right. Otherwise it would eat him up inside. The itchy compulsion more painful than any physical wound he could inflict.

*

Afterwards, there was the guilt. Dan had to tell Phil, before he saw for himself. Had to watch Phil work to temper his reaction, because he had learned that freaking out only made it worse. That it made Dan feel more deserving of punishment. The awful, ugly feeling of having hurt Phil only made him want to hurt himself more.

He’d have to tell his therapist, too—that he’d taken three steps back, rewound, relapsed. _Reason’s Why Dan’s a Fail,_ truly. He kept the self-deprecating jokes to himself while he was sitting on her couch, picking at the fringe of a pillow he held like a shield in front of his body. Some things people didn’t want to hear you joke about. Some jokes he even had to keep from Phil. It would upset him too much to hear them.

*

Dan paced back and forth in the bedroom. Phil stood in the doorway.

“Can you get me some ice?”

He’d fucked up a total of twenty-three times. He wanted to fix it so badly. The strength of the urge made him furious. He grew angrier every second he denied it.

But he’d promised to try something new.

Phil returned with the ice cubes, one for each hand.

Dan clenched them in his fists, letting it burn painfully, and kept pacing.

“If it starts to melt, I’ll get more.”

He grit his teeth and nodded. Squeezed tighter. He rubbed one of the ice cubes against his throat, where his pulse was pounding. He slid it over his hot face, pressing it against his flushed skin while it melted.

Phil brought more ice. Dan clutched the cubes in his red hands, focusing on the intense sensation.

By the time his fourth pair of ice cubes had melted, Dan had forgotten how many mistakes he’d made while filming. The rage and the bubbling pressure had dripped out of him. He laid a numb, wet hand on the back of Phil’s neck, giggling when he squealed at the cold touch.

*

It was about balance.

It was Dan leaning against Phil when his body was so heavy he could barely move. Letting Phil run the bathwater hot. Ease him out of his clothes, work delicate hands through greasy curls.

It was Phil knocking softly on the bathroom door. Asking, “Can I come in?” Averting his eyes because he knew Dan didn’t want him to see what he'd done. Waiting patiently for the smell of antiseptic. He’d rifle through a drawer and pass Dan the plasters. Lay a hand between his shoulder blades. Dan would apologize. Phil would just move his hand in slow circles.

But later, when Dan was feeling better, he’d take some of the weight off Phil. Giving gentle scalp massages when Phil’s brain was pulsing with pain. Making phone calls, answering the door, taking care of all the little human interactions that sometimes just became too much for Phil when he was trying to please everyone on time and exactly right.

He helped Phil unwind tangled webs of obsessive and intrusive thoughts, laying out the bare bones facts and brainstorming solutions for if the worst really did happen.

He stood up for Phil when he wouldn’t do it for himself. Jumping in to mediate when a confrontation was brewing. Taking charge of situations and dialing up the charm to carry them both through.

Sometimes it didn’t seem equal. Dan felt like he wasn’t doing nearly enough to match what Phil did for him.

When his head was clearer, he remembered that what they needed from each other and what they did to meet those needs wasn’t quantifiable. There was no unit of measurement for support offered and support accepted.

None of it was about fixing or saving each other. It was just nice to have someone to fall against when everything started to tip. Someone who might be just as wobbly at times, but somehow sturdy too.

*

They queued up a couple of movies. Ordered way too much takeout with the intention of devouring it all. Dan lined up his dips along the edge of the coffee table, well out of the way of where he knew Phil would absentmindedly prop his feet up at some point.

Tomorrow he would edit his video. He’d watch back his mistakes again. If he had to run up and down the stairs till he was exhausted, he would. He’d melt dozens of ice cubes in his fists. He’d blast music through his headphones loud enough to leave his ears ringing for hours. If Phil was up for it, he’d fuck every last bit of energy out of himself. Or maybe they’d play video games and Dan would be as obnoxious and competitive as he wanted, all his concentration channeled into winning.

He’d ride out the urge until everything settled and balance returned.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading
> 
> [ tumblr post ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/post/175976131845/balancing-the-scales-rating-t-word-count-1111)


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